


What This Is

by RogueBelle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon, Rating: PG13, Romance, Speculation, Star-crossed, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-14
Updated: 2011-05-14
Packaged: 2017-10-19 09:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueBelle/pseuds/RogueBelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rhaegar is sent to find the Knight of the Laughing Tree, he finds rather more than he had bargained on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What This Is

"It was you."

Grey eyes wide, Lyanna shook her head vehemently. "I don't know what you mean, my lord," she said, though the colour draining from her face gave the lie to her words. "You've – You've made some mistake."

"I haven't. I almost never do, and I'm sure I haven't now." Rhaegar looked her up and down, measuring her height against what he remembered of the mystery knight; it fit. The knight had seemed so slight, so slender, nearly swallowed by his -- her -- rattling armour. "We had thought mayhap some stripling lad, another Barristan Selmy, but no... no, this makes far more..."

"You mistake," Lyanna insisted, though her legs felt weak beneath her and she knew her hands were shaking. "No doubt you had the right of it before, some youth over-eager to prove himself--"

"You must have borrowed the armour from one of your brothers. You ride like a vision. You could unseat half the knights here, maybe more, and yet you chose those three, so deliberately. Why?"

Lyanna's jaw trembled; the truth welled up in her like a swollen river against a weak dam, too forceful to be denied. If Prince Rhaegar had guessed, her secret was already lost. "Because it was the right thing to do," she replied, managing to keep the fear out of the low timbre of her voice. "Their squires shamelessly beat and tormented one of my father's men, a crannogman of the marshes." Rhaegar stared at her, unreadable as ever, as though she were some wild thing new-crept out of the forest. Feeling the suffocating pressure of the silence, Lyanna blurted out in continuation, "The squires received a fair reprimand at my hands, but I could not do enough to make them regret it directly; mayhap their liege knights will have better luck teaching them honour." Still more silence. "I had to defend him. It was my duty as a Stark, and-- and it was right."

"You mad, reckless thing." There was no heat in his words, no anger, not even an expected note of censure -- Rhaegar was stating a fact, like any he might have learnt from a book. His hands descended heavily on her shoulders. Lyanna tried to draw away, but he held her fast. "My father's on the warpath, gods know why, but he's got it in his head this mystery knight means him harm."

"I never--"

"Of course you never." She looked up, and through her streaming dark hair she met his eyes and saw there the emotion she had not been able to identify in his voice: wonder. She, Lyanna Stark, had awed this great prince, this noble Targaryen lord. Now it was his turn to shake his head, not in denial, but in utter disbelief. "You brave, foolish thing."

Before Lyanna knew what was happening, his hands had moved, one down to her waist, the other cupping the back of her head, and he had drawn her in and captured her mouth with his. A rush of heat swirled through her, tingling all the way to her toes and then swimming back up in a heady rush. She felt dizzy, and frightened, and excited, and he was still kissing her, and then her arms fell about his neck, encouraging, pulling him closer.

Rhaegar broke away from her, taking a step back, and Lyanna didn't know why the sudden small distance felt like such a loss. "I'm sorry," he said. "I should not have-- I can't explain--" Then he moved to her again, smoothing her hair back from her face. "Lady Lyanna, you are... extraordinary. I could not have imagined..."

Lyanna studied his face; there was something moving behind it, something churning in his mind too quick and inscrutable for her to even guess at. She felt such a draw to him, a driving urge to lean in and let him kiss her again, to thread her fingers through that fine silvery hair, to feel his breath on her skin. Before the impulse could overtake her, she forced herself to try and break the spell by changing the subject. "My lord," she said, and cursed herself for how breathless she sounded, "I meant no harm by my actions. I know the King sent you to find--"

He waved a hand dismissively. "Do not think of it. You speak true; you are no threat to him, no harm. I see of no reason he should know. Your secret is mine." A sudden light came into his face then, transforming him with the same brilliance as when he played at his harp. Something had fallen into place for him, had suddenly made sense of a grey and murky world. Lyanna saw the change, but had no notion what had caused it. There was new intensity in his gaze upon her. "Extraordinary," he repeated. "I suppose no less should be expected from the Great House of Stark."

Lyanna lifted her chin slightly. "I hope I serve my House and my family faithfully and well," she said.

A smile answered her -- a real one, not the ghostly imitations that so often crossed the Prince's face. "You have quite caught me off my guard, Lady."

"I?" Lyanna exclaimed, bewildered and somewhat indignant. " _You_ are the one, my lord, who-- who--" She didn't know what to call it; she knew 'assaulting' was probably the term she ought to use, the term pure young maidens were meant to use when it came to attempts to compromise their virtue, but somehow it seemed completely wrong.

Rhaegar spared her the trouble of finding an appropriate descriptor. "I know. I should not have done that." There was a spark in his deep indigo eyes, unusual and unexpected. "But I should like to do it again."

She placed a hand against his chest, meaning it to be a barrier between them, but instead she felt his heartbeat thrumming, rapid-paced, and felt her own breath hitch in response. Still, she said, "I do not think that would be wise, my lord. I am an untouched and betrothed maid, and you-- you are _married_."

The sadness came over his countenance again, melancholy resuming its usual cast over his features. "I am," he conceded. He stared at her a long moment, drinking in the sight of her: her initial terror had given way to shock and bewilderment, which in turn had given way to the stubborn disapproval he could now read on her face. For some reason that touched him as deeply as anything; even though the reproach was aimed at him, it showed such nobility, such honesty, such courage. The rigid sense of honour that the Starks were so famous for had driven her to disguise herself and do battle in the name of one she considered under her protection, and now it led her to stand up to a royal Prince and deliver him a set-down as she would anyone else who had offended her. "Gods help me, my lady, yes, I am married. I would normally never-- It is not in my character to inflict myself on innocent maids in the middle of a deserted forest. I am no seducer, I make no habit of compromising young ladies' virtues--"

"And _yet_ ," Lyanna interjected tartly, and it only made Rhaegar admire her all the more for her bravery.

"I don't know what this is, Lady," he said. "In a spare few moments, you have managed to turn all my expectations upside-down. What a power you have." He tried to smile, raised his hand to touch her cheek. "I thought I knew what I was for, but now-- You have such courage, such _goodness_ in you. I don't know what to make of it, or you. Just a few moments, and you've done something to me, something I could never have imagined. You've given my soul a whole new song, Lyanna, and I--" His voice was ragged with honesty, heart-achingly open; Lyanna knew, just hearing him, that he meant every word, and the implications of that, to say nothing of the possible consequences, terrified her. Even worse-- "And I suspect you must feel it too," Rhaegar added.

"I-" Lyanna stammered. She knew precisely what he meant by it; a quarter-hour earlier, she'd had an adventure but knew she'd be returning to the life that was planned out for her. She had known precisely what it all would look like, what path she would walk down, but now she felt like a whirlwind had picked her up, spun her about, and deposited her in a foreign country. Something had broken open inside of her, some long-submerged reserve of fanciful dreams, the part of herself she'd had to lock away in order to reconcile herself to her future. _'But with this man, I could be anything,'_ she thought. _'He would let me be anything, and by each other, we could both be so much greater than we are...'_ But honour, damnable honour, reasserted itself, and she clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. "No. It doesn't matter what madness is overtaking us, that doesn't make it right--"

But this did not have quite the discouraging effect she'd intended; Rhaegar's hands tensed, hope brightening his eyes. "You do understand."

Lyanna gave a half-exasperated sigh. "I do, my lord! Does it please you to hear it? Will my saying so change anything? You are wed to a Princess of Dorne, and I am betrothed to the Storm Lord, and we... we have not spoken a dozen words before this day!" A bubble of hysterical laughter rose in her throat. "This is _beyond_ madness, I can't even find words for what this is! No, no, my lord, this... this is not happening."

"This is something _true_ ," Rhaegar said, clasping her again. "This is not carnal lust or idle affection. Tell me you have felt in your life as you have these past few minutes."

"I have never been so surprised or confounded, I know that for certain."

"Nor I," Rhaegar admitted. "That does not make it any less important that we take notice of it."

Fearless, she met his eyes. "And what should it be, my lord? The noble prince and the nut-brown maid? We are not of your bard's tales." She extricated herself from his arms. The sun was slipping beneath the tree line, and the evening air grew cool. "This is a fancy, my lord, and one we should not indulge again. No good will come of it." Lyanna drew a deep breath, casting her eyes up at the duskening sky. "I have to go. I will be missed. Please, if you place any value on me, you will... forget this." She gathered her skirts up and moved past him, determined to make her way out of the forest and back to her tent, where she could curl up in the comfort of soft blankets and try to put this whole impossible sequence of events out of her mind.

"This is not over between us, Lady," Rhaegar said softly as she passed by him.

Lyanna turned neatly about, directing her words to the back of his silvery head. "It most certainly is, my lord Prince. This cannot be anything. It cannot exist, and so... it never happened. I bid you good evening, my lord." She turned around, started to walk again, and then added, over her shoulder, more gently, "I hope you find peace."

Rhaegar stayed planted where he was until her footsteps faded from his hearing, not trusting himself, if he moved at all, not to sweep her up in his arms again and beg her to yield. Only after several long moments was he able to turn his thoughts away from the scent of her skin and the luxuriant softness of her hair. His eyes rested on the shield, still stuck up in the tree where Lyanna had tried to hide it, that crudely carved instrument which had begun the madness. _'Something will have to be done,'_ he considered. _'It will not please my father if I return empty-handed... but an abandoned shield, and a knight who melted back into the forest once he'd seen justice done... yes, that will make a fine tale, one for noble lord and smallfolk alike to wonder at...'_

Rhaegar pushed the sleeves of his tunic back and set to climbing the tree so he could retrieve the shield. He was already composing a song for the tale, but the familiar flow of notes and chords kept being interrupted by the sound of Lyanna Stark's voice, and Rhaegar found he could think of nothing but her lovely, stubborn face and the taste of her lips against his.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this work, please check out [my blog](http://cassmorriswrites.com)! I also write original fiction, and my debut novel will be out January 2018.


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